


Intoxicating

by orphan_account



Series: Shimmer [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and Other Histories of Middle Earth - JRR Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2072895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanáro's fingertips glow like embers on his skin, and Nolofinwë hates how much he loves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intoxicating

Fëanáro's fingertips glow like embers on his skin, and Nolofinwë hates how much he loves it. Hates how, no matter what his brother says or does, he always comes running back; hates how, whenever they are apart, he craves Fëanáro's touch.

His brother's hands trace delicate patterns on Nolofinwë's stomach, leave goosebumps in their wake as they trail up his sides to ghost across hardened nipples. "Please," and the pitiful whimper is yet another reason to hate himself, "please, I need you, Fëanáro-" He's cut off by the moan that falls unbidden from his lips as Fëanáro sucks a mark from his collarbone.

This. This is why he always comes back, this is why Fëanáro has such a hold over him. His blood is on fire, his skin flushed with his brother's heat, and he's writhing beneath Fëanáro's touches.

"So eager," Fëanáro murmurs, hands migrating down Nolofinwë's torso to settle on his hips. "We've barely even started, and you're already writhing. Already begging for me." He smirks, lips only inches away from Nolofinwë's. "Should I give it to you?"

There's no question of what is meant by _it._

"Yes," Nolofinwë gasps, "yes, please," because as much as he wants to wipe the arrogant smirk off of Fëanáro's face, he wants to feel his brother's cock pounding him into the mattress even more.

Fëanáro's smirk grows. "Well, since you asked so nicely," he purrs, and slips one hand across to press into Nolofinwë.

It's only two fingers, but Nolofinwë still has to take a moment to adjust to the intrusion. "You oiled yourself?" Fëanáro asks, one eyebrow raised. At Nolofinwë's quick nod, the smirk dissolves into a genuine smile. "Naughty." He moves closer, breath hot on Nolofinwë's lips. "I like it."

Fëanáro starts moving his fingers then, and any coherence Nolofinwë might have still had vanished into thin air.

His older brother is more potent than any drug, and just as addictive. Before he entered Fëanáro's chambers tonight Nolofinwë promised himself that this would never happen again; he said the same thing last time, and the time before, and the time before.

He can try to quit all he wants - he'll always come back for another dose.


End file.
